


Sweet Apple

by Rubynye



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Interspecies, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-06 01:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is the sweetest prize of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Apple

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://community.livejournal.com/ringprov/profile)[](http://community.livejournal.com/ringprov/)**ringprov** is going to be good for my writing and bad for my wrists. I was doing something else entirely, when I started musing on the "What if" challenge. One big LOTR what-if is, what if Boromir got the Ring?
> 
> And then my nasty little imagination went into overdrive.
> 
> WARNING: THIS IS A DARK LITTLE STORY. The "Wussy Coda" only partially redeems it, if at all. Don't whine to me if this squicks you.
> 
> Challenge #23, what if.

He is the sweetest prize of them all.

Oh, there have been many sweets, since I took what was rightfully mine. The look on the Elf's face, when he could not see his foe, when I wound a hank of that slippery hair round my fist and jerked his head back to cut his throat, oh, that was sweet. Seeing my City, made safe and whole and proud and pure, that was sweet. Forcing that damned mountebank who claimed to be my King to his knees before me, before I struck off his head, that was very sweet indeed.

The halfling was sweet, too. Not my halfling, the Ringbearer. I took the Ring, and then I took him, flush with my new power, every thrust filling me with more; afterwards, I kissed his tears away, and thanked him for his boon, and snapped his smooth small neck. I gave him peace, as he never had.

Then I returned to my companions--- what a laughable word! --- silent and swift and unseen, so that even the ranger barely felt the hairs prickle on the back of his neck before I was upon them. The halflings stared, choked with fear, as the dwarf and elf and ranger fell before me; to soothe their fright I took off the Ring so that they might see my face.

The Ringbearer's servant repaid this kindness by flying at me, sword drawn, crying out how I had hurt his master. Poor hopeless little one, he was dead almost before I lifted my sword. Our cheerful one went for me then, but now I was warned as to the ingratitude of halflings, and I merely stunned him. Orcs were on their way, after all, and I needed all my strength to bend their wills to mine.

My halfling never attacked me. He just stared at me with wide green eyes, freckles floating on milk-white skin. When I lifted him, he tensed and then slumped in my arms as in a swoon, as in sleep.

And now, the war is going well. Father went to sleep one day and never woke, so I am Steward now of a kingless throne. The Dark Lord wages war on us, of course, but I have orcs of my own; more useful yet are the elves, whom I can compel to do their share, to fight for us as we once fought and died for them.

Faramir is free of Father, and has all he might ever have desired. A bright-haired wife, maids and men to attend him, even the other halfling for a pet. He did look at me for a time with eyes sorrowful and sidelong, so I was forced to have those eyes put out. A pity; there are times I miss his bright gaze. But, he has all he might want, and hands to hold it with, what does he need eyes for?

And I have my halfling. I have a wife, I have concubines and minions, but sometimes I think I have them all only so I do not overtax my little treasure. None of my other bedwarmers are like him, not at all. None hold me so tightly in a body so compact it ever makes me feel even larger and stronger than I am; at first he would weep, but I told him not to be sad, for he was mine forever. Now he cries out sometimes, delicious cries, but he does not weep. None of my bedmates have a mouth like his, a little rosebud which stretches pinkly to fit around my cock, which sings wistful songs of that sometimes remind me of a foolish doubt-filled man who used to wear my face. None of them can so swiftly remove all thought of that man from my mind, with small soft hands that are not a child's, wide green eyes that know so very much, with chestnut curls softer than silk against my skin.

He told me that his name, not his birth name but the one I first met him by, means a sort of apple. He is like an apple, sweet and small, my sweetest prize of all.

 

[The Wussy Coda]

 

_No!_

Boromir sat straight up, heart pounding, blood roaring in his ears, staring into the moonlit night; when his eyes would focus, he realized he was looking at the light on the River. A dream still flickered at the edges of his mind, a dark dream of his taking the Ring, and doing terrible, unspeakable things---

"Mmmph." A smooth-skinned wriggle against Boromir's side resolved into Merry clambering upright. "Boromir?" Merry asked sleepily. "Boromir, what woke you?"

"Boromir?" Pippin stirred then, also calling for his friend as he climbed back into Boromir's lap, from whence he had been dislodged. "Boromir, why aren't you sleeping?"

Boromir's heart pounded all the more; his tongue was stuck fast to the roof of his mouth. When Merry leaned closer to peer into his eyes, he shrank back, horrifying flashes of his dream-self's treatment of the halfling coming back to him. "I think he's had a bad dream," Merry said to Pippin as he wound an arm round Boromir's neck, heedless of the Man's flinch.

"Poor Boromir." Pippin climbed to his feet as well, and wrapped his arms round Boromir, kissing his cheek. "It's no wonder, now that we're out of Lorien and back on our dangerous way. Come, come back to sleep."

"Pippin. Merry." Boromir coughed, and gently tried to disentangle his two hobbits from his body. "Perhaps you should return to sleeping by the fire."

"And leave you, after a nightmare no less!" Merry sounded outraged, and he kissed Boromir's cheek hard. "What sort of friends would we be?"

"We'll protect you from whatever you dreamt of," Pippin added, nuzzling Boromir's beard. "We'll use the fighting skills you taught us."

Boromir sighed, and began to relax, as his nightmare receded before the warm presence of two friendly hobbits. He lay down again, one halfling snuggled in the crook of each arm, and took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Merry and Pippin were right. It was only a dream.


End file.
